


Hallow Wholes

by wordstowords03



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Affairs, Angst and Humor, Betrayal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, Love, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Sexual Content, Smut, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:17:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4921087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstowords03/pseuds/wordstowords03
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set eons past the New York disaster and Loki's imprisonment, Asgard flourishes under the dual rule of King Loki and  Thor. Brothers at last, it seems until a face of the past resurfaces and dictates the future of Asgard as we know it. Will Loki finally prevail in love? Will he attempt to become the sole inheritor of the throne?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited. Inspired by The Dark World.

"I beg of you to reconsider,” Sif beseeched. “Think of the repercussions—of our family! Have you no remorse towards what you have so assiduously accomplished?” She sought her sister’s hand through the small distance that separated them, desperate to convince her sister to see reason.

Sif’s sister held her shoulders high despite the burden that lay upon them and shied away from the gesture, unwilling to let the warrior interfere with her plan. A grim smile sauntered across her face, crinkling her eyes; hiding the shimmering green that shone so boldly in her declaration. Her crimson hair fell in intricate waves to her shoulders. She was elegant, severe—words befit only of the warrior’s youngest sister.

“Remorse has never been in my nature.” She remained serene, willing the insistent waves of rage to succumb to the cooing of rationality. The last thing she needed was a brawl with the fiercest warrior of Asgard.

“You are to be married!” Sif cried, exasperated. “What shall the Allfather say of your treason? What of Fandral—your friends? Sister, please!”

“I never loved Fandral!” The woman hissed. “That was your doing, not mine. I grow tired of living a lie!”

“How quaint coming from the woman who wishes to bed the God of lies himself! Loki does not want you, Rayna! When will you come to terms with his declination? How much longer must you cling to such forbidden sentiments?  He will never love you, Rayna; mark my words. Never.”

“Do not speak of which you do not know!” Rayna yelled, her daunting voice bombarding the ornate chambers. “The beckons of my heart are heeded no longer,” Her voice lilted, a whisper of barely capsulated rage. “I leave on my own accord, not Loki’s.”

“He is the source of this rebellion, I know. You would be a fool to pretend otherwise.” Sif threaded truth through the passion that lulled in her eyes, in the rigidness of her posture. “Reconsider. Marry a respectable warrior, a man who shall warm your chambers and bore more protectors of Asgard; maidens to forge the new generation. You will grow to adore him as he does you.”

“No, my sentiments are meant for no man.” Rayna declared, freeing the sword at her waist. “I live only for myself now. You, of all people should understand.” She slithered her forefinger across the tip of the blade, running over the emeralds that had been forged within the steel. “I shall pay the price of my freedom, fret not.”

“Rayna, what nonsense are you speaking?” Sif demanded, seeking to reach her sister once more. So this was a game, was it? Rayna—all talk, no action. It was merely as though they were children once more! “Let us prepare for your wedding tomorrow.”

 Rayna greeted her with a wistful grin, angling her sword towards her heart. With a wilted sigh, she struck the blade past her sternum, engorging the blade within her bodice, crimson eking from the afflicted site, her eyes suspended from their sockets.

“RAYNA!” Sif shrilled perilously, lurching forward to catch her beloved before she fell forth. Her hands grasped air as her sister flickered from sight.

***

The whole of Asgard gaped upon the news of Rayna’s farewell. Sif skirted about the semantics of her disappearance, sparing the details of her presumed departure to Vahalla. Fandral shrilled before the court, bestowed in his finest armor, amid his loyal warriors. Odin and Thor demanded she be found. Frigga stilled their temper, calling upon the wedding guests to proceed to the awaiting banquet.

Sif leaned hopelessly against the balcony of the dining hall, overlooking Frigga’s prized gardens. So alive, so vibrant. A crimson flower stood out amongst the rows of shrubberies, nearly as vibrant as Rayna’s locks. She could imagine the velvet of such strands beneath her fingers as she woven them into a braid; wild, free. How she cherished such memories.

“You lied.” A velvety voice shattered her grievous sentiments.

Sif swiveled on her heels, drawing her beloved blade from her belt. “You know nothing.”

“You forget I am the God of Lies,” The voice muses, it’s owner sauntering forth to greet the tip of Sif’s offending weapon. “Tell me where she is.”

“Even if I knew I would not tell you!” She roared from between clenched teeth. “I do not see why you are so inclined to know her whereabouts, you never cared for her!”

“She is my dearest friend!” Loki bellowed, sweeping a hand behind him to ease closed the balcony doors before one of the banquet members could disturb their quarrel. “Now, I demand that you tell me where she is.”

“I speak truthfully when I say that I know not where she has vanquished.” Sif clenched her fist around her weapon, tilting it downwards and compelling herself not to impale the God before her. “S-She refused to marry Fandral and disappeared—I tried to convince her to see reason but she refused.”

“Why would she do something so foolish?” Loki raged in disbelief, his emerald eyes shimmering in light of her confession. His hands struck the air in front of him, as if chastising Rayna herself. “She knew her destiny before it bgean—she knew her duties!”

“Yes, well, she decided to make her own destiny, as usual.” Sif provided, her voice stiff and lifeless. Loki bobbed his head in eerie agreement, picturing Rayna’s erratic gesticulations and relentless determination. She had always been born to burn; to challenge the wind.

“When is she to return?” Loki mumbled, daring to glimpse Sif’s hazel eyes. The warrior merely shook her head, her eyes floating back to Frigga’s gardens, solemn. “Sif?”

“She is not to return.”

“Why in Hel not?” Loki demanded, arrogant as ever.

“She sacrificed herself for freedom.” She omitted, her throat leaden with grief. “She is gone.”

“I grow weary of this ambiguity—speak up and tell me where she is so I may find her and deter her from whatever path she has decided to follow.”

“Loki—she is dead! Deceased! She flows within the vessels of Vahalla now!” Sif stormed before him, shoving a finger in his aristocratic face. “She sacrificed herself with the sword you so generously gifted her! She took her life in the name of her love for you! She is gone!”

Loki stumbled backwards, thudding against a golden column. Sif observed him through her tears, letting them fall freely down her cheeks. His green eyes sought the afternoon sky frantically, as if summoning Rayna to his side; to show herself and forget this insanity. His heart slowed in his chest, each breath reflecting his agonizing guilt and astonishment. “Love?” He echoed. “Love for me?”

Sif boomed a laugh across the balcony, the sound thundering against the wind. “There could be no other.” Sif made to exit the balcony, sheathing her sword. “It was always you.”  


	2. Homecoming

I am unsure of what I thought I would return to—I’d heard utterings of Asgard’s emergence into a new era of peace and enlightenment. We’d always been a keen people but now, it seemed the people were thriving, conjuring new ideas faster than ever; evolving, innovating. However, nothing could prepare me for the unnerving dread that overcame me upon entering the residence of my birth after centuries of absence.

I had spent much of my life here—a prisoner within the glimmering walls of the court, shrouded under the skeptical eye of the All-Father and his cohorts. I was loyal then, trusted, nestled within the hearth of Asgard alongside my elder sister. Ironic how the tables have turned. I roll my eyes at the guards that jostle me through the looming vestibule, hauling me forth into the refurbished grandeur of the throne room. We embark upon the aisle determinedly, the spectators on either side gawking at our ascension.

No fright nor intimidation befalls me as I am shoved upon my knees before the God of Thunder—the presiding King of Asgard. His chiseled chin bores down suspiciously at me, taunt. Such a chin makes a bold impression when paired with the icy, crystalline intensity of his eyes. So soulful—I once saw them. Now? They hold nothing but contempt for me, disdain.

Or, rather not me but the disguise I toggle.

To the eye I am a youthful male; malnourished, disorderly. My limbs quiver through the manipulation of my magic, projecting a figure that is terrified and panicked. Such a frenzy is justified, perhaps, since I do take the form of the Assassin I encountered in Vanaheim. Countless villages were slaughtered under his tyranny and I, naturally, had brought him to his demise. In doing so—as fate would deem me so misfortunate—I was captured under the jurisdiction of the Asgardian army, seeking quickly to adapt the form of the villain I had just laid to waste.

Not my finest moment.

Yet, most certainly not my worst.

If I knew anything of Thor, the punishment would be minimal. I would be incriminated, judged, and tossed into a cell that I would only too easily free myself from. Feign death, I would, and materialize into the dawn to resume my shadowing through the realms. Free of obligation.

Thor’s fingers interwove with a figure to his right, drawing my eyes to the source of his affections. My throat constricted at the sight. Sif had aged dexterously, marvelously. Her russet locks swayed about her waist, a length I never gathered she’d reach. It was too innocent; gentle. Certainly not befitting of the fiercest warrior of Asgard. Her armor had improved over the centuries; more gold, flair and flexibility. Her armor fishtailed into a lovely skirt, red, of course, to enhance her lover’s claim to her prowess.

Sif had shackled herself to Thor, had she? My eyes pursued the bulge that lay claim in her abdomen and a smile slithered across my lips. She was a mother to be?

 _I’m an Aunt._ A shrill voice bubbled up within me, overjoyed at the proposition of beholding a niece or nephew. I coerced my excitement into steely reserve immediately, drawing closed the feelings I once clung so fondly to.

_You do not live this life anymore. You shall never do so again._

If only the heart were so effortlessly convinced.

“You dare stare upon the Queen, murderer?” My head bobbled from Sif’s belligerent face to the boisterous voice that boomed at her side. Her Husband regarded me callously. “You will advert your gaze, peasant.” I fought the urge to scoff at such pomp and ceremony but obliged anyways.

“This is the criminal for which Vanaheim lays claim?” Thor demands of the guard, arrogant as ever.

“Aye, my King. They have submitted the peasant to your jurisdiction for they know you and His Highness will reap justice where it is due.” The guard replied, complied to bow despite the stronghold he maintained on me.

 _His Highness?_ In spite of myself I settle upon Sif once more, knowing that it could not be she of which this guard speaks. _Two rulers?_ I had heard such rumors but thought them to be myths; never daring to lay gaze upon the phenomenon myself. Who would the All-Father deem to rule the throne other than his trusted son? Certainly not… My heart lurches at the prospect—the image of a man I once admired coalescing in my mind’s eye.

“They have chosen wisely.” Thor shifts in his lavish Throne, the same as the noble who occupied it afore him, if not extended to accommodate his wife, should she choose to linger beside him. “Brother, what say you?”

Outwardly, I knew the eyebrows within my disguise meshed together, an outward representation of the angst that overcomes my being. My gaze seethes the throne that lays to the left of throne, theatrical in it’s occupation.

The throne maintains it’s golden grandeur, but has been crafted upwards, rather whimsically. The edges are flourished with intertwining serpents, weaving in and out of one another to illustrate the clashing of ovals; an eternal end. The eyes of the serpent glow above the headpiece of the throne, glimmering a rich emerald.

Within the seat looms of a lithe figure, one I had memorized all too well as a young maiden of Asgard. Slim, yes, yet behind the garments lay the toned torso of a warrior; littered with scars and blemishes. My flesh ripples in exhilaration, compelled by the memory of childhood passed. My eyes trailed upwards, above the silken, emerald robes and golden bangles; beyond the menacing scepter that balanced within a nimble, calculating grasp. An angular chin and prominent cheekbones wrought taut over an ivory canvas, every bit as aristocratic and noble as any royal. Ever still I seek those shrewd eyes; pinning my movements under the keenness of his emerald scrutiny. Enhanced those eyes are by the tendrils of ebony that claw about his face. Shorter locks—well kempt. I observe this fondly, imaging such a cut on him as a child; the two of us, enraptured by books by the bubbling of the stream.

It suit him well even then.

Anything did.

He traces my disguise thoroughly, his eyes pooling with condescension. “We shall not tolerate tyranny in any ally of Asgard,” He declared, ever sultry in his execution. Such intonation jostled me to the bone, nearly faltering my illusion. His eyes jerk ever so slightly. My confidence will not be shirked, however. If any one’s magic could hold a torch to Loki Laufeyson’s, it would be mine. And I’d been practicing for centuries. “He shall be meet his demise by the hands of the court. Do you so agree?”

_Demise?_

Sif chuckled to the right of Thor, bemused by the genuine incredulity that shines upon my features. “Asgard no longer trifles with traitors. We have learned well in our years of betrayal.” I am sure—although I can not claim for certain, for I was not able to gaze upon my sister for long—that her eyes shimmied over to Loki’s, a clear “dig” to his ambiguity.

Loki out rightly snorted yet chose to remain silent, brooding. My eyes slithered in his direction once more, taking none too kindly at the scrutiny and depth of his gaze as he sought my presence.

“Aye, Brother. It shall be.” Thor gesticulated to a guard to his side, beckoning forth the man holding a gruesome scythe, blade glistening with a bracken fluid.

Oh, he was serious! Damn the lot of them! I made quick preparations in my head for the manipulation of my spell, hastening my illusion to solidify into flesh upon the execution, willing my presence to leave uncharted.

“Vanir Hanison, I hereby sentence you before the court of Asgard to death for the countless slaughter of innocents. Your soul shall depart to the hallows of Hel and rot with all those who since trifled against the unity of the realms and mother Asgard.” The guard cantered closer, ever ominous in his demeanor. Oh, such theatrics! What happened to sound imprisonment and the delirious ramblings of a criminal hauled to the dungeons?

Odin would be so disappointed.

I closed my eyes and readied the spell, enthralled by the cool wind that reverberated off the impeding blade, swooshing before my throat.

_5…4…3… 2…_

“Halt!” Loki cried, summoning the court to a jumble of whispered and ecstatic murmurs. “Stay your blade, soldier.” I creaked opened my eyes reluctantly and sought to settle the rambunctious energy that swarmed within me. Oh, what now? Thor and Sif gawked as Loki descended his throne, pausing to stand before my disguise. “We have a liar in our midst.” Loki reached a hand down to clasp my chin, a gasp evoking from my outwardly illusion. I felt such a gesture. It stirred every unrequited feeling within me, every sentiment. Joyous impulses trickled from his fingertips through my bodice, enlivening the revelry that coursed through me veins, uplifting the veil of tragedy and hatred that engorged my heart.

I was young again; blissful.

And I loathed such sentiment.

I sought to wrench back my chin only to be met with the biting coldness of his touch, exhilarating and exhausting as it was. “Do you wish to reveal yourself traitor, or shall I?”

I could feel the court shift around me: anxious, unnerved. Yet, I could not bring myself to abandon the formidable man that towered before me.

“You should not wish for what you cannot undo.” I warn, thwarting the boundaries of his claim in a stranger’s crackling, masculine voice, challenging his accusation before the court. “How boldly you accuse one of lying when you yourself are the embodiment of trickery. Perhaps you are **wrong**.”

His answer leer cuts deeply into his flawless skin, daring. “Try me.” He hisses, audible to my ears only. Within me boiled that encapsulated rage. It rose and sweltered, amplifying to daring heights.

“As you wish.” Adapting a sneer of my own I snap my fingers from within the confinements of my shackles, willing my apparition to perish.

Loki’s sinful smirk evaporated into anguish upon gazing my face. He stumbled backwards, relinquishing the grapple on my chin. I eradicated myself from my chains and rose, evoking gasps and squeals from the court.

Thor rumbled in astonishment, abruptly stirring from his throne. “It—it cannot be.”

All the while, I remained in a staring contest with the dark King, fanning my arms out before me. Theatrics weren’t typically my forte yet, they did hold some credibility. More up Loki’s ally than mine.

“Rayna!?” Was Sif’s erratic plea before the guards descended upon me, the court erupting into a stream of chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rayna is every bit a work of art.  
> I like it.


	3. Exultation

I sighed at the oncoming plume of Asgardians and swirled my hand slowly, warding off the approaching fiends. They tumbled back, landing unceremoniously on their backs before the court. At some point in the melee, Sif had forged her way to my side, her hazel eyes hysterical with anguish.

“Stand down!” She shrieked, ambling past the guards and bearing her teeth to the court. In her strut was determination, passion—the Sif I once knew so very long ago. The former regal ambiance she projected transpired into smoke, billowing about the court in a foreboding, ambitious fashion. A guard tugged at her ladyship’s arm tentatively, appealing to her safety. She snarled at him, thrusting his body backwards with the tip of her elbow. “Do not forget who controls you, fool! I said stand down!”

Several things happened all at once: The scrambling of the guard, scattered screams amongst the court, and the pugnacious rumblings of Asgard’s Kings as they set to contain the anguish that plagued the throne room. The crowds dispersed, escorted out by the command of Thor. All the while Sif stood, encumbered by passion and stared. It was eerie—intimidating, even for the likes of me! Standing, falling under the relentless observation of loved ones passed; it was indescribable.

Sif stretched out her hand, closing the short rapture that separated us. It trembled, quaked. Her fingertips skimmed my cheeks, testing as if to ensure I was not merely an apparition. My lips deepened in discomfort. It had been ages since I had been so close to an individual—felt the touch of one so dear. If I was completely honest, the tingles of Loki remained still. Dominant to my sister’s touch were the chills he left in his wake. Her other hand shot forward to embed behind my ear, rousing the crimson tresses that were pent up along my neck. Soon, she grappling me on either side of my face, her lips trembling in blatant disbelief.

“You perished—I-I saw you.” Her hands tightened to fists. “How is this possible? I saw you—I saw you!”

“Things are not always what they seem.” I reply, the sentimental conspiracy in my voice shocking even me.

“How?” She whispered, a stray tear embarking down her cheek. “You are meant to be within the arms of Vahalla, feasting upon the luxuries offered only to the deceased.”

“I bargained my soul, long ago.” I eradicated myself from her grasps, lurching back as she tried to hold me once more. “No—do not touch me.”

“Why?” The jagged intonation to her words wreaked havoc upon my heart. “You are mine—you are Asgard’s—you belong with me. I cherish you so.”

My jaw tightened. “I belong to no one. Not anymore.”

“You spew nonsense!” She shrilled, hands balled into fists at her side. Her disbelieving stupor evolved into rampant grief, petulance as she strode forth. “You WILL stay for I have the means to imprison you! I will condemn you to the dankest of dungeons—the decaying innards of Asgard—until you come to your senses!”

I laughed out rightly. “You dare presume you can cage me? Restrain me? I am no Aesir—not anymore. I am far beyond you and your traditions! I have reaped the bowels of Hel and emerged reborn and you—oh, mighty warrior of Asgard—presume that you can detain me? Banish me to the foliage of the palace? Do your worst, sister! For I will merely thrive!”

I’d nearly forgotten the presence of Thor and Loki until the ebony haired King materialized mere inches from me. Thor had taken duty of restraining a smoldering Sif.

“Your eyes.” Loki observed, a cognitive glint in his alluring eyes. He—deciding it was acceptable to touch me once more, obviously a trend today—lifted a finger to embed beneath my chin, tilting it upwards. I knew at which he was glimpsing. The putrid red that lined my irises. Traditionally, they were blue. However, in my death I had greeted the clutches of Hel and in my restitution was the sacrifice of their appealing coloring. Now, they shone crimson—a beacon of immortality. “Hella,” He breathed. Her emerald eyes fixated on mine, an insistent regret compiling within them. “Why? Why would you were do such a brash thing?”

Thor—fed up with having being excluded from the festivities—boomed out across the court, vexation contorting his voice. “Would someone mind informing me on whatever is happening?”

Unbeknowst the Thor, Loki rolled his eyes and set his jaw. I nearly laughed, amusement shining through on my face. It seemed as though while great change grappled Asgard; it’s people had not been fazed at all. “Are you blind, brother? This woman is an artifact of the deceased. She wields powers only ever hinted of by our mother, Frigga.”

“A Magic she used to slaughter innocent people?” Thor inquired, skeptical. “This is not the Rayna I once knew.”

I batted away Loki’s hand and skirt about the abandoned court. “You want to know my story, yes? Fine. I left Asgard—I could not bear to be here. Cowering from the potential of the realms, tethering down my sentiment. I grew weary of your laws and distinction. I sought counsel from Frigga several nights before I was to wed Fandral.”

“You were meant to be united!” Sif sneered. “He was to be your future—your savior! He would have brought you forthright into society! He would have given you sons—warriors! Warriors who would have aided us in the battles that ensued our realm!”

Loki shot me a vexed stare, laced with remorse. He knew best of my grief, my restraint. He had talked me off the ledge many times. Only, his words mended so little. He could never replace the sentiments I harbored towards him—the love.

I chose to ignore Sif’s words and continue, pacing the court. “Frigga, the brilliant sorceress she was, taught me an ancient art; the relinquishing of life through the manipulation of holes in our blood, our genetic sequencing. It was forbidden to practice, taboo to the mores of Asgardian society. It was my only hope. So, I embraced it. In it’s execution—to harbor the truth of such a power—you must sacrifice yourself and surrender your soul to it’s clutches. If it’s magic so chooses you, then you are reborn, reconstructed. If not, you are condemned to walk amongst Hella’s vast halls and reminisce the life you once led.” I stare off at the two vacant thrones in the background, tracing Loki’s inquisitively, intriged at the snakes that encircled it’s helm. “I sacrificed myself. The magic chose me. Hella summoned me to her guard, as her hand dallies within such forbidden practices. Under her tutelage, I traveled the realms, eliminating threats when they disrupted the delicate balance. Small alterations, such as the murderer I appeared as. I took on his form before the guards captured me for fear of being recognized. A moot point, I now see.” I waved my hand carelessly, summoning the fiend’s carcass. It dropped to the floor cruelly, evoking a bemused purr from the God of mischief.  “He is indeed dead.”

Thor’s brows bobbled slightly. “You…. Protect the realms? How have we never heard of you?”

“Hella’s bidding requires stealth, King Thor. Besides, I was not striving to be know. I rather cherished notion of my death. I had merely vanquished—at least you all bothered to search.”

“You act as though no one cared of your exisistence.” Loki interjected. “We grieve, Rayna. You were part of the precious balance that solidified Asgards and it’s constituents. You are royalty.”

“You lie.” I shook my head. “Then again, what else is new? Even your failed pursuit of Asgard has done null to rectify your behavior. Shame.” Loki merely grinned, flourishing his arms in an outward stance, embracing my accusations.

Sif drew up beside Thor and cast me a determined glance. Thor admonished her lightly, clasping her forearm in caution. “Given all that has transpired here today, I cannot allow you to leave. You are an Asgardian, you will stay until Loki and I have properly investigated your current….” Thor fumbled over hid words, eyes drawn to mine. “I, uh, _state._ Wards shall be placed upon the palace to refute your transportation abilities. However, you are free to roam anywhere to choose within palace grounds.” He turned to his wife. “Escort her to her chambers and return to me. We have to reconvene the courts.”

Sif kissed his cheek and strode forth, capturing my forearm roughly. I complied, knowing it useless to rebuke. As we scurried from the throne room, a sultry voice purred in my ear.

_We are not finished._

I shivered involuntarily, caught under the sinuous lull of Loki’s unbidden promise.

I threw my head over my shoulder, challenging his intense gaze with one of my own. _It never was._


	4. Memories

Convincing Sif to leave had morphed into a vexing ordeal. I was suffocated with her usual grievances and accusations. Bound by Thor’s summoning, the fierce warrior eventually fled, a fateful glare tossed over her shoulders.

I released an enduring sigh as the door clunked closed behind me. I slid down the dwarfing piece of craftsmanship slowly, allowing my legs to slip out from under me and my rump to smack against the floor.

I loathed my return. Yet, worse still was the venom in which Sif forged my way. I loved my sister; she filled a vacancy our mother left unoccupied. While I could never repay her for her sacrifice, her hell-bent demeanor vexed me beyond measure. Why was she so concerned about my reproductive habits—especially pertaining to fandral? Why did it matter? If she hadn’t of forced us together in the first place perhaps I would not have abandoned Asgard. Perhaps instead I would have thrived here, loved here, and succumb to my books here for the stretch of eternity. It certainly would have been simpler.

I smirked in my stupor, knowing I could not fathom a life lived here, tethered to a marriage or not. I knew why; it was no mystery. I had chosen my path from the very day I laid eyes on that scrawny boy in the court yard all those eons ago.

***

“Why do you refuse to be more aggressive?” Sif roared, jabbing her sword in my direction in exasperation. “Attack me!”

“I do not like this,” My adolescent voice quivered. I was merely 6, my sister 16—pugnacious as ever. “ It is booooring.”

“You are bored?” Sif sputtered, hazel eyes drawn wide. “Perhaps if you fought more valiantly this would not be so! To arms, Rayna!” She rallied her efforts once more, saber poised.

“Sif, I am just not interested. Might I go read, now?”

“Rayna, no! You cannot _read!_ You will fight!” She shoved my shoulder fiercely. “Fight!”

Sif was seized abruptly from behind, a meaty forearm slung across her shoulders. She groaned irritably and fought to shrug off the appendage, inept for games. “Thor, you Oaf, lay off me!”

“Only if you desist your harassing of our Dear Lady Rayna.” He grinned, his teenage body bent in on itself, stopping to my sister’s height.

“She is a coward.” Sif snarled, the venom in her voice evoking a chuckle from the Prince.

“She is a child.”

“She most certainly is not!” She bickered, poking him squarely in the chest. “You are the child for intervening in endeavors that do not involve you!”

“On the contrary, Lady Sif! I am merely a Prince—a God! I adjust the rules of equality! And I ridicule your unwarranted probing!”

“Probing?!” She grit her teeth, lodging the tip of her sword under Thor’s chin. “Is this a challenge?”

I fled upon the final stretch of their banter, allowing them to their own devices. I trotted over to a spot of trees where I left my books and ventured to the main courtyard, delighting in the vast array of flowers and greenery that surrounding me. I caressed crimson moon lilies, blew upon a stray dandylion, and giggled at the absurdity of the ducks that trotted in the grass, seeking after one another. Encapsulated in bliss, I settled under the shade of the great weeping willow, stretching my short body out as I lay on my stomach. I hummed to the tune of the breeze and propped my chin on my hands, mesmerized by the words that played out before me. Lost in the words, I swung my legs. Haphazard in their execution, they fisted the air until they hit something rather solid. I winced and withdrew from my book, sitting up to cradle my foot.  

“Accursed tree.” I scolded, scowling after the rough bark of the Willow.

“That was not the tree.” A soft voice amended. I whirled my head around to glimpse the youngest prince, his lips contorted in agony, clutching his shin.

“Oh, sorry, your highness.” I offered. I settled quickly back into my text only to be halted by the Prince’s grumbling. “May I help you?” I inquired, unamused.

“You nearly amputated my leg and all you offer me in a haphazard apology?” He grunted, fixating me with taunting emerald orbs. “I am a Prince!”

“Yes, and I’m a girl—who makes mistakes. Get off it, already.”

The Prince’s eyes widened minimally before he broke out into an infectious grin. “Fiesty, are we?” The young price, but mere years older than I, came to lounge beside me, pushing the hair from his face. It was long, untamed. Suiting. “What are you reading?”

“A book.” I replied, unabashed.

He chuckled. “Obviously. Is it a redeemable one?”

“Well…” I contemplated. “I suppose if you fancy distorted main characters, yes. They are all quite unique—strange.”

He pursed his delectable thin lips in thought. “Oddities compile to equate greatness, wouldn't you agree?”

I tilted my head to the side, nibbling on the idea. “They can, I suppose. It would depend on the severity of the oddity.” The Prince regarded me shrewdly, urging me with the bob of his head to continue. “Take a… Let’s take a Prince, shall we? An odd Prince. He loathes sparring, totes about insolence--wears it as an excuse to justify his mischief. This oddity serves as both a vice and a virtue. Virtuous because he could hone his talents and responsibilities and blossom or succumb to the to his excuses, bite the wrong fingers. ‘Tis an ambiguous line.”

The Prince grinned. “What about defiant adolescent who bails out of her lessons?”

“Moot point,” I smirk, plonking my nose with the pad of my index finger. “Considering the Prince does the same.”

“Clever.” He amends, stretching his arms behind his head leisurely. “Since we are both shirking our lessons, we might as well enjoy it. I’m Loki.” He beamed, inclining his head to me.

I glanced over at him fleetingly before returning to my book, the slightest hint of blush dusting my cheeks. Had I honestly acquainted myself with a future King of Asgard? “Rayna.”

***

I was jostled from my meanderings as the hearth within my quarters rumbled to life, flame engulfing the ornate structure. The flame traced the figure of a man; lithe, trimmed in muscle. I grinned in spite of myself, anticipating the reunion to come.


	5. Rules

Just as soon as the flames conspired, they were gone. In the flame’s stead stood Loki, riddled of his armor seen in the courtroom. He wore a much simpler ensemble now: a loose tunic, his hair set freely about his shoulders in endearing ringlets. My heart sang with anticipation, embracing his impending presence. He stepped forward from the hearth confidently, his shrewd eyes emboldened by my crumpled form.

I quickly rose to meet him, propelling me knees to slide upwards along the expanse of wood. My own eyes sought him hesitantly.

He pursed his lips, silent. When he finally spoke his words were dull, muted by a contained anxiety that could not go unnoticed to the keenest of ears. “You return—sooner than I had expected.”

I bit back a condescending laugh. “I gather that my arrival was sooner than I might prefer. You may steal the King from his tricks but, the tricks never abandon their King.”

Loki’s resolve shattered instantaneously, his arms agape. He embraced such an accusation, his cheekbones jostling with the jovial laugh that rang through the chambers. “You know me far too well for my liking,” He crept closer, stitching together the space that lay between us. “Hella was all too eager to reveal your whereabouts.” He stretched out his hand, the palm towards the ceiling. “It has been too long. I grow impatient for my company once more.”

I growled irritably at his words. Was this still but an elaborate rouse for him to manipulate? “The prophecy is not yet fulfilled, Loki! This could jeopardize everything you have forged for!”

Loki clicked his tongue appraisingly and lift his outstretch hand to caress my cheek. I gasp at the cool sensation that budded across my flesh. My eyes drifted closed of their own accord earning an approving chuckle from his Majesty. I opened my eyes to pin him with the severity of my glare. Were it not for the overwhelming pleasure that racketed my body, I would have surely flinched away. “What _we_ have worked for. _We_ , my love! Do not sell yourself short of all you have sacrificed to linger at my side once more.”

I scoffed. “You think I changed my fate for the sake of your love? Fool—never.” I attempted to advert my gaze at the emission of such a lie, only to by manipulated back to his gaze.

Loki smiled knowingly. “You did it as much for love as I, dear one. I rotted in darkness for your embrace, sacrificed my sanity—my _liberation_ —for the sinuous lull of our coupling. Ragnaorok is not merely my destiny, it is yours.”

“How you have not grown weary of my loyalty is discerning,” I acquiesce. “I never did contact you.”

Loki’s chest rumbled. “Oh yes, I have not quite been able to skirt over such a fact. Such is why I summoned you early, devised your premature capture. I could not bear another century—we are so close! I can sample our victory!”

I smile in spite of myself, always one to be lured into his schemes. A detrimental weakness that sought to soil my purity throughout my youth. “Thor is still blind? Sif? Heimdall?”

He nods vigorously, seething to wrangle an arm around my waist. He tugs me closer, inhaling the lavender aroma that encompasses me—a trademark of his possession. “I’ve seen to it that our fate is sealed. Fenir and Angroboda await my command.” He inhales once more, releasing an enduring sigh. “You have not attempted to ward my blessing.” He uses his free hand to grasp my chin, uplifting it to bear the beauty of his heady gaze and dashing smile. “You do love me.”

“I had no say in the matter,” I state stubbornly, mystified by his affections. “You cling to one’s mind as a tick to a mule, Silver tongue.” Even as I tease, crimson lightened my cheeks.

“How I adore you, my Rayna. Kiss your King, your equal, your God for I intend to bestow upon you the seed of a ruler, the title as my Queen. For, in all my affairs, there has only been you, my intended. Kiss me as if I am your dying breath, your sustenance, your universe. For you, I shall kneel—my sun and sky, my Goddess. Kiss me.”

I am still bewildered at how alluring his words were, summoning my attentions to his. Within me stirred the arousal of my youth, licking at my flesh, boiling in my loins. I lurched forward to lavish his lips with my sentiments, engaging in an open-mouthed battle of lust and need. His hand crept down my neck, prying past the velvet folds of my robes, and delved between my breasts. He cupped one supple entity firmly in his grasp, squeezing it affectionately.

I giggled shrilly and pulled back, relinquishing our embrace. “My King, I have saved myself eons for your caresses, I shall wait thrice days more. It is not yet a Hunter’s Moon. Our coupling will be for naught.”

“How quickly you dismiss our love….” He teases, nipping at my neck. “Pleasure is never one to disappoint.”

“Restraint yourself—Loki!” I cry as he pinches a nipple between his cool fingers, evoking tendrils of bliss to lap at my body. “Enough! I must rest. Thor intends to flaunt me before Asgard tomorrow and Fandral…” The name quivers on my lips, summoning that gloom of my past.

“He will never touch you, Rayna. You. Are. _Mine._ ” He growls, sealing my lips with his. “Rest if you must, but I shall not leave you. I refuse to abandon you to the clutches of your doubts. Lay in bed, drift asleep in the arms of comfort. No threat shall ever impede upon you again.”

“Oh, Loki.” I chide, ruffling his ebony locks. “You are imprudent. You have duties to attend to, obligations. You are a King. Imagine Sif’s reaction if she were to find me in your embrace….” I sighed, shaking my head. “Go now, I shall see you in the morning.”

Loki refused to move, waving his hand over my body to strip me of my robes. I stood nude before him. “Loki! Get out!” He chuckled, daring to scoop me into his arms and carry me to the bed, dumping me upon the satin duvet.

“Obey your intended and allow him to protect you as you slumber.” I groaned, attempting to escape his supervision, only to be shifted under the covers, his body dwarfing mine as he situated himself beside me, cradling my body.

“I could zap you, as I’m sure you are aware.” I argued, sighing into his embrace. “I am no longer weak and frail as you left me. I am bold.”

“You were never weak.” Loki cooed into my hair, angling himself to kiss my forehead. “Sleep, my Queen.”

Swathed in his arms, perhaps I could.

As my eyes drifted closed, I drew away the thoughts of tomorrow and reveled within the embrace of my love. Bloodshed and tears had brought me here—to this accursed realm—but also to the serenity of his embrace. Loki and I were finally one.

…. So I had convinced myself to believe.


End file.
